


The Bloom is Off

by demonfox38



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Audience Deception, Brief Canon Divergence, Gen, Home Invasion, Injury Recovery, Probably helps to know about S2E112
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: Despite the violence he has endured, Goemon is making a quick recovery after his abduction by two fame-obsessed assassins. He's at least back to the point where he can take care of himself while Lupin and Jigen get some work done. They just had one little rule for him to follow--don't let anyone in their hideout. Surely, Fujiko is an exception to that rule, right? Hey, which character isn't getting tagged in this work?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	The Bloom is Off

One. Two. Three. Four. Back.

"Again."

One. Two. Three. Four. Back.

"Again!"

Goemon grumbled, but humored Lupin. His games always had some sort of purpose. The golden coin rolled once more over his fingers, having no time to settle into each divot before flipping to the next digit. Goemon knew all too well why Lupin was testing him this way. His motives wrapped like the bandages around the samurai's fingers.

Lupin's eyes glittered. "Cool. Other hand."

Again, Goemon repeated himself.

Again, Lupin urged him on.

Again, success.

No. Finally.

A wise person would never let Lupin hug them. His fingers were too dexterous, all too easily slipping in and out of wallets. Goemon had no choice in the matter as those same tricky fingers locked behind his neck. He didn't fear Lupin's wiles. The ronin had nothing on him to steal, no way to repay Lupin for all he had done. Had it not been for his intervention, Goemon would have been pulled joint from joint, pierced through the heart, left torn and pinned like an insect in the dungeons of some forgotten fortress. The value of their bond wasn't measured in the little coins Lupin had Goemon roll across his fingers. It cut through dark days, flashing diamond-white in the deepest of storms.

"Man, look at you!" Wily hands wrapped around what had healed so well. "I can't believe how fast you've recovered."

Goemon lowered his head. "It has not felt fast to me."

"Considering you almost died a week ago, I consider this to be pretty freaking miraculous."

Well, there was that. "So, are you satisfied? May I return to work?"

Lupin didn't like to leave empty air. He whistled as he tried to find the right words. Goemon frowned. He knew what wasn't being said. Maybe his fine motor skills were back. Thieving wasn't just about using one's hands at the right time. A master thief needed a quick mind. Quicker legs. Strong bones, stronger muscles. Tissue that wasn't being held together with little more than thread and determination.

When he couldn't do his own dirty work, Lupin left it to another. "Jigen?"

Soft paper rustled from the chair behind them. Jigen tossed his book aside, just about as graceful with his words. "Do you want to spend the rest of your recovery with Pops? Because the only place you'll end up in your condition is a friggen' jail cell."

"Jigen, please."

"Or the morgue."

Lupin's face went as red as his coat. "Jigen!"

Goemon held his jaw shut. His pride was skulking inside his mouth, all too eager to leap out. He knew Jigen was right. He could hardly walk. The right side of his body was still stiff and raw. How was he supposed to keep a low profile when he was limping? Climbing a ladder or a rope would be a fool's errand in his condition. Not to mention how unpracticed his sword swing was. Cutting through plaster, wood, and glass? Sure. He still had the strength for that, even in his left hand. But, what about when speed really mattered? When someone drew a baton, raised a gun, pointed it at him—

Ah. That was it. The test he needed to pass for Jigen.

Goemon pushed himself from the floor. "Jigen."

"Yeah?"

Cold metal drew from Goemon's hip. "Shoot."

Lupin got out half of a protest before gunfire erupted in their hideout. Six thudding shots tore between his partners. Twelve pieces of shrapnel fell to the ground. Goemon smirked, tucking his blade away once more. Jigen was holding back. He could fire three times the speed he did, pull a speed loader from his jacket, and fire again. That didn't matter. The proof of Goemon's strength was now on the floor, speckling stones and their employer alike with hot, heavy lead.

"You maniacs!" Lupin howled. "What have I told you about doing that?!"

Jigen smiled. "Don't do it inside the hideout?"

"Well. Yes. I guess." The thief rubbed his palms over his ears. "That's not my point…"

A little tinnitus was nothing to scare Goemon off. "Are you still certain that I cannot return to work?"

"Yes." Not that Jigen didn't give a little leeway. He sat up, crossing his legs at their ankles. "But, I think you're good enough to take care of yourself, now."

"Meaning?"

"Lupin and I have been putting off some chores for a while now. You know, since we had to keep a close eye on you." Jigen's grin curled up, resting in an easy fold. "But, if we don't have to babysit you anymore, maybe we could get a thing or two done. Make a supply run. Clean up the mess we left behind. Stuff like that."

Goemon blinked. "The mess?"

"You know," Lupin chimed in. "Back where you were…um…"

Oh. Of course. In the dilapidated fortress where Goemon had spent the better part of a day hanging on the walls like violet, tan, and red tapestry. Idle hands squeezed against Zantetsuken's tsuka. Fatigue left his memories in a swirled, clogged mess. What his mind mislaid, his teeth remembered. The piercing shriek of spiraling metal against dentine. Zantetsuken, wet with blood. How the flesh and bone of his captor split in its wake.

Lupin the Third was a thief and a gentleman.

Gentlemen didn't leave the corpses of their enemies to rot in the open.

Practice kept Goemon stoic. "How do you plan on cleaning that…mess?"

"Standard operating procedure. Shovel. Hole in the ground." Lupin let their old routine take hold, nudging Goemon in the shoulder. "I'd ask if you can dig it, but in your shape—"

Well. It was obvious what Goemon could and could not do in his condition. "Perhaps I could hold some sort of ceremony for them. I do have some incense left in my room."

A tar-black cough stuck him to the floor. "People like that aren't worth your prayers, Goemon."

"Besides, we've got other stuff to do. Like, raid the place!" Lupin clapped his hands together. "A big old fortress like that has got to have something good left in it! It'll probably take us hours to go through. All those floors, and stairs, and the freaking towers! And to make you march all over the place? Well…"

Perhaps Lupin had a point. It still didn't make Goemon feel any better. "I could stay in the car, if you are that worried about my health."

"And what a huge waste of your day that would be!" Lupin crowed. "Especially when there's nice, soft couches here. And beds. And books! And—"

Goemon sighed. There was no arguing with Lupin on this point. His fussing was obnoxious, but understandable. If it gave him some peace to sit just this one day out, then so be it. Besides, the samurai could use some privacy. This whole experience had left his friends as stapled to his shadow as he was tethered to theirs. He needed to meditate. Clear his thoughts. Just be, for a little while.

"How long do you intend to be gone?" Goemon asked.

"Probably not past sundown." Wood creaked as Jigen stood up. "I'm assuming cooking for yourself won't be a problem."

"I can boil water, at any rate."

"Good enough." With that, Jigen nudged his way past one partner, stepping over the other in the process. "Coming, Lupin?"

"Boy, aren't you perky today?" The master thief bounced behind the gunslinger. "Guess we'd better strike while the iron's hot."

Goemon nodded. "That is the intended time to do so, after all."

Lupin shot a glance that the ronin could not deflect. Alright. Perhaps idioms were not his strong suit. He shuffled behind the pair as they packed, seating himself on the foyer's staircase. How Lupin managed to find so many abandoned pieces of property, Goemon didn't know. This didn't feel like a lack in his knowledge, necessarily. More like confusion over Lupin's luck.

Crates and shovels laid over Goemon's usual spot in the Fiat. His head dipped. Well, there was no begging his way into the backseat this time. Not that a samurai was ever supposed to stoop to such a low. It was just hard to be benched. How many more times did he have to sit on the sidelines? When would be one too many? Would they part with the pair of them driving away in the dust, or Goemon skulking away in some moonless night?

A goofy smile pulled him out of his thoughts. "C'mon. No pouting. It'll just be this one time."

"Are you certain, Lupin?"

The thief wiggled his pinky at the samurai. "I promise."

Goemon sat up. Surely, Lupin didn't realize the meaning of the gesture he was making. Then again, Lupin was ridiculously knowledgeable. Even if it was just a pinky swear, he would hold it as fast as yubikiri. Goemon raised his hand, locking pinkies with Lupin. He already trusted the man with his life. A body part or two was not too big to risk.

"Now then." Lupin sunk his fingers into Goemon's hair, tousling it from right to left. "You be a good boy. No letting anybody else in. Just us, okay?"

Goemon lifted an eyebrow. "Not even Fujiko?"

"Especially not Fujiko!" Jigen roared from outside.

Jigen's suspicions of their mutual friend wasn't just out of misogyny or paranoia. She didn't have the cleanest track record with them. Goemon's stomach turned. Did Lupin even tell her what had happened? It wasn't like this place had all of the bells and whistles of his better hideouts, but surely, he had to have contacted her. At the very least, written her a letter. Fujiko was her own agent, as free and wild as the wind. She was also a part of their club, as much as Jigen felt otherwise.

"Just use your best judgment, okay?" Lupin asked.

How good Goemon's judgment was, even he didn't know. Still, he tried to reassure Lupin. "Alright."

"And when I say best judgment, I mean it!" One skinny finger poked him square in the sternum. "No talking with door-to-door salesmen! I don't need to come back home and find out that an Avon lady poisoned you with a hairbrush or an apple or something!"

Sharp eyes burned hot. "I'm not some hapless princess, Lupin."

"I know," Lupin agreed. "But, can you blame me for worrying about you?"

No. No, Goemon could not.

Hot lips hushed his thoughts. They left an embarrassing burn in the center of his forehead. Goemon flushed red. Were all Frenchmen this forward, or was that just how Lupin was? Even being his friend for years left Goemon unsure. At least the Japanese side of Lupin was polite enough to leave him with a cordial familiarity. " _Ittekimasu!"_

Goemon was all too comfortable to answer him. " _Itterasshai._ "

And with that, Lupin and Jigen were gone, the crush of the Fiat's wheels pressing the world mute.

Weary eyes stared too long at the front door. Goemon pulled himself together, making sure their hideout was locked shut and tight. How strange it was to think again, to hear everything, to feel. The pull of his fingers down the wooden doorframe. The padding of his heels against velvet carpets and cold floors. The air rising and falling from his nose.

Musky cologne annoyed him. A cloud of tobacco wrapped around him like an old robe. Even when Lupin and Jigen were gone, their scent remained. Goemon drew himself together, perching himself in a settee abandoned with the property. If he closed his eyes, then nothing was different than before. He was not alone.

Well. He would not be alone for very long.

He may as well make the most of it.

Bare feet buried themselves beneath Goemon's legs. He drew his arms into his robe, fingertips meeting like magnets. Zantetsuken leaned into his neck, its presence forward, reassuring. The samurai laid his roots in old divots, following the same paths that had guided him before. He was warm. Safe. There was no better time to meditate than now.

A breath came into him. It left. Air rolled in and out, tidal, steady. Neurons flickered, tracing down the whole of Goemon's body. With each ripple, he felt more reassured, at greater ease. Each finger on his right hand still had their partner on the left. Where one toe flexed, another mirrored. Even the deepest of his wounds stretched, relaxed, let him be. The itch along scabs and stitches faded. Everything on him—in him—was alright. Healing.

Building muscle required muscle to be torn. For new fiber to grow back.

Goemon was growing like a vindictive weed.

Minutes passed. Perhaps an hour or two. Goemon didn't feel time slip. Sunlight fell on him, breaking through dirtied windows and sprawling trees. He took its heat in, his cells as eager for its nutrients as chlorophyll. Contentment left a warm, full feeling in his stomach. Lupin was right. He needed this. A few more mornings like this, and he would be back to—

Rattling glass shattered his focus.

One eye flashed open. Goemon stared at what disturbed his meditation. Large, dark eyes were looking at him through iron-wrought bars in the window. Lush hair curled in spiraled horns, framing a marble-hard face. Delicate knuckles tapped against the windows. They struck harder in his heart. 

Chilled waves rippled down his back. Logic fought them like a defiant fish, forcing sense upstream. Goemon wasn't seeing this. He couldn't be. There was no way that was his tormentor knocking on his window.

Dead women didn't move.

"Goemon?" Three more knocks shook him out of his stupor. "You can hear me, can't you? Answer me!"

Sweat rolled down his brow. Fujiko. Of course, it was Fujiko. Goemon wiped his fear away. It wasn't fair to her, seeing her and thinking of the woman that had brutalized him. He had to get used to being around her again. Not just for his sake, but Lupin's as well. No matter how Jigen protested, Goemon wouldn't drive a wedge between Lupin and Fujiko. Not accepting her was as good as resigning from their group.

Goemon leaned towards the windows. "My apologies. You surprised me."

"I noticed!" Fujiko flipped a single tendril of her hair back. "Where's Lupin?"

"He's out."

"Jigen, too?"

Goemon nodded. "That is how they work."

Fujiko tipped her head, then smiled. "And they left you all alone?"

An inner force pushed Goemon's jaw shut. Anxiety narrowed his focus. He shouldn't be talking. Lupin wanted him to stay alone, silent. A fussing pheasant was all too easily caught and killed. Wary hands rested on the window's frame. Perhaps he should push away from her, end this conversation. It would be rude, certainly. But, his instincts were hard to control.

The indecision was crystal clear on his face. Fujiko saw straight through him. "What's the matter?"

Oh, other than Fujiko having a dead, malicious doppelganger? Goemon shook his head. "This is a test, isn't it?"

"A test?"

"From Lupin," Goemon clarified.

Not that his answer helped Fujiko at all. "Why would Lupin be testing you?"

Goemon's nose crinkled. "Didn't he tell you what has been going on?"

Fujiko's fists curled, slamming into the window's stone frame. "He hasn't told me a thing!"

Odd. Strange. Rude. Even ruder than Goemon was being. He was used to Lupin leaking like the Titanic, sinking their entire operations for a single kiss. Why wouldn't he have talked with Fujiko about what had happened? A letter wasn't that hard to write, was it? Hell, there had to be some phone out here. Not on these dilapidated grounds, but at least in some nearby town, dangling from a petrol station's booth.

"Look, can you just let me in?" Pain beaded on the edges of Fujiko's eyes. "I'm thirsty, and I'm tired, and my shoes are ruined from all this mud!"

Hospitality softened Goemon's heart. Well, Fujiko certainly did look like a mess. Not that he would be bold enough to say something like that to her face. But, her clothes were dirt spattered. Hairspray wasn't holding up what fell over her eyes. She looked like she had been on a safari, hunting through every last lane in the forest to find them. What was he to do? Bound away like frightened quarry?

He was a man. Not an animal.

Bound fingers unwound the windows' locks. Goemon reached out, offering Fujiko his hand. The blush in her face was wine deep. "Oh, come on! What am I, a teenaged girl sneaking into your bedroom?"

And what boy wouldn't be glad to have her company? Well, Jigen, perhaps. Goemon just smiled, holding his hand out firm. "You can make it."

Smooth fingers rested above the loops of his bandages. Goemon waited until Fujiko had a foot in the windowsill before drawing her inside. He grunted, his shoulder protesting. He certainly was out of practice if moving someone as light as Fujiko was difficult. Anxiety held his hand once more, forcing the windows closed. He was going to get such a ribbing when Lupin returned. But, he feared that less than Fujiko's retribution.

She slunk behind him, patting his face. "You're a real gentleman, you know that?"

Her fingertips burned on his jaw.

Goemon gathered Fujiko's arms, then slipped himself from their embrace. Fear dripped like acid through his veins. She couldn't know. None of them did. It was clear where Rose had left her thorns, but not what sank deeper than slashes and bruises. He froze his jaw, setting his lips ice-tight. This was Fujiko before him. Fujiko. A woman who would rob him, cheat him, kiss and tease him. Never beat him. Not like that.

Sharp eyes cut through trained patience. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe so," Goemon admitted. He wound up his fear, then breathed it out. "We can talk about that in a bit. Perhaps over tea?"

Fujiko bopped him on the nose. "You know just what I like, don't you?"

Well, she was not shy about that. Or anything, really.

Embarrassment crept up Goemon's back. For being rude to Fujiko, certainly. For not having a proper kitchen, even more so. There were bits of porcelain left behind, white sinks and wooden countertops. What used to be a stove had rotted away, rusting into a red and black ball. Anything they used to cook came with them. In this case, it was a little camper stove kept propped by narrow windows. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make staples. Soup. Ramen. Tea.

Goemon rested his sword against what remained of one wooden cabinet. He fished the knapsack of his supplies from it. A man of his caliber never went anywhere without proper tools. Something to shave him. Something to sharpen Zantetsuken. Most important of all, a little tin of matcha. He scooped it up, setting it beside a bowl and a bamboo whisk. Perhaps matcha was not Fujiko's favorite, but it was what he made best. If nothing else, perhaps she would appreciate the effort.

There was a soft rustle as Fujiko seated herself at the chipped dining table. "Not much in the way of a kitchen, hmm?"

"We are making do with what we have, for now." Water and heat met, their bubbling rattling inside a metal pot. "Lupin managed to blow the cover on our last hideout. He's only managed to get a handful of supplies snuck out of there."

Fujiko rolled her eyes. "And yet, he managed to have enough time to put a neon sign on the roof of this place."

Goemon just sighed. Lupin truly did have questionable priorities.

"So, what's going on?" Fujiko asked. "Are you two fighting or something?"

"No." Goemon pulled his head back. "Why do you ask?"

"It's awfully rude of him to leave you alone."

Sure. Perhaps. Not that any of them were as fickle as Goemon was when it came to etiquette. He couldn't fault them, this time. "They had another mess to clean up."

"Another mess?"

"It's my fault," the samurai babbled. "They have had to spend so much time looking after me. Whatever awaits them must be awful. I can't imagine…Even in a dark, cool environment, what remains must be…"

He shook his head, struggling to contain another meaningless spiral of words. Fujiko surely didn't want to know about that. Not at breakfast. His teeth set tight, his gums throbbing. Fujiko knew of their business. She was just as apt at killing as the rest of them were. More eager, in some circumstances. And yet, chivalry had his head bowed. One didn't speak with a Shinto priestess about murder and rotting bodies. Even someone so diabolic as Fujiko had the same sainthood, her sins scrubbed clean from his eyes. How could he taint their conversation with such a topic?

Goemon was a fool. Just as much of a bitch as Lupin was when it came to pleasing her.

All she had to do was ask him to roll over. "Tell me what happened."

Sentences were hard to form. They fell out of his mouth in broken hunks. The rolling strands of bandages around his body were more coherent. Goemon shrugged back the right sleeve of his robe, letting bleached cotton speak on his behalf. His sarashi was normal, expected, protecting the same skin and muscle around his navel that they always had. In his weakness, its binding grew. It was hard to even feel human with so much of his skin wrapped tight. He looked less like a man and more like a rag doll.

Fujiko's lips tightened. "That looks…"

"It's better than it was." With that, Goemon tidied himself up. "Most assassins don't drag these sorts of things out, but I—I suppose…I'm making this more complicated than it is."

"Take your time." Long fingers folded beneath a graceful chin. "I'm listening."

Goemon breathed out. Stale air forced out simple words. "Two assassins were after Lupin. I crossed their path first. They took me. When I would not help them kill Lupin, they beat me. That's…that's all it was."

Gentle eyebrows pinched above sinking eyelids.

An aching jaw locked tight.

Goemon rubbed the side of his face. He turned his attention away, letting his fussing fall into their teacups. There was reassurance in how briskly he beat against water and powder, blending them into a smooth solution. He could lie better to himself than to Fujiko. He could pretend there was nothing more to the vitriol in Rose's lashes, that her lover's heart didn't bleed twice when Goemon cut him down. It was better if everything that happened was fueled only by the transaction of their business. Thinking of their emotions—his own—would draw another wound.

Soft words soothed stinging ears. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better, but I'm alright." Goemon turned to her, their cups in his palms. He laid hers down first. "At the very least, I can walk again."

"That's…good." Fujiko held a fingertip on the edge of her cup. "I guess I was wondering more about those assassins. Like, where are they? Are they going to come after you again?"

For a man with such a sharp sword, Goemon was blunt. "It's over. They're dead. We're safe."

Fujiko stared at him. "You're sure?"

Well, there was always a background threat building in Lupin's shadow. Zenigata was almost always on their ass, but he wasn't usually a hazard. More of a mild amusement. But, as for what Goemon had endured? "There were only two of them. Wolf and Rose. Partners in every interpretation of the word." Green tea turned black in his reflection. "I killed Wolf. And when Rose saw him struck down—when I had taken him from her…"

Fujiko was clever. She didn't need Goemon's crude words to paint a picture. She stared into her own cup, her eyelashes just barely touching. Goemon could never see Fujiko doing what Rose did. Not in terms of torture, nor in her demise. Fujiko lived for her own entertainment. Lupin dragged his men to her shows, all too eager to see what she could do. And yes, she was amazing. Shocking and breathtaking in a way no other woman was. It was a show that needed no audience to continue. Perhaps that sort of existence was selfish. To imagine Fujiko suffering and dying at the end of her lover's life was a thousand times more repulsive.

And wasn't Goemon a grotesque bastard, goading another woman into that very act?

"I…" Steady jaws swallowed tea and bile. "I have my regrets about the situation."

Dark hair fell over a smooth, perfect face. "Like what?"

"I would not say either assassin was innocent, by any means." Cool china smoothed against Goemon's fingertips. He kept rolling the cup in his palms, letting his thoughts spin with it. "But, they loved each other. They were willing to do whatever it took if it meant something for their partner. Even die. When I think of what I have done…"

Fujiko's silence was as heavy as the table.

"Sorry." Goemon drowned his gaze in his green tea. "Jigen told me not to think too much about it. I can't help myself."

A slim smile scolded him. "That kind of thinking is going to get you killed, one of these days."

He nodded, then sipped his tea.

Peace came in a warm wave. Both Fujiko and Goemon drank, content just to sit still. It was nothing as regimented or formal as a tea ceremony. Fujiko certainly didn't have the patience for them, outside of her schemes. But, their dining had the same delicate nostalgia to it. It brought Goemon back to days of absolute reassurance—when he was all but certain of his path as an assassin. When one little monkey dropped from the trees, broke into his cloister, bound him up as badly as he was wrapped now. 

Another creature slithered down his shoulders. "I can't believe you're feeling sorry about this."

"I know. I'm a fool." Goemon sat his cup down. "I keep thinking of what I could have done to stop what happened, and every solution I come up with is more embarrassing than the last."

"Like?"

"Getting used to subpar plumbing. Not bathing outside. Not bathing alone." Pink humiliation bloomed in Goemon's face. "Maybe being less modest around women."

Fujiko's smirk sharpened. "You really haven't learned anything about us, have you?"

Goemon boiled a deeper shade of red. He had forgotten who he was talking to. "I suppose not."

A sweet giggle pitied him. Thin fingers brushed the back of his neck. Another confusing crash swept through Goemon's mind. One second, Fujiko was teasing him for his naivety. The next, rewarding his tameness. If he couldn't understand her, how could he hope to understand the motives of any woman?

Not that just anyone cracked the puzzle that was Fujiko Mine. Even a mega-genius like Lupin was still stumped on that one.

For once, Fujiko kept her needs simple. "Say, do you have anything to eat?"

Goemon nodded. Taking tea required having sweets. Not that he had anything as proper as wagashi on hand. Lupin at least had bread. Jigen had half a dozen things to put on it when he wasn't eating condiments straight out of their jars with a spoon. Goemon held a smirk back. Honey. There had to be honey here. Maybe jam or peanut butter, too?

Eager eyes searched through every gap in the dilapidated kitchen. Honey, check. Strawberry jam, check. Nutella. Oh. It had been some time since he had eaten that. What else would Fujiko want? Goemon picked up a tin of tuna, his brow pinched. He would like tuna for breakfast, yes. Not so much his friends.

Light from cloudy windows gleamed on metal cans. The stove. The teapot. The surface of his tea.

Their reflection was as sharp as a knife.

Goemon froze. Long hands furled up, squeezing his latest acquisition. His stomach sank with particles dripping into his teacup. They fell from thin fingers, sprinkling and settling like salt at the bottom of the sea. Thin lips pressed tight. Alright. This wasn't the first time that Fujiko had drugged him. He just didn't know why she'd do that now, of all times. Not when he was already cut so low.

This was not a fight he wanted to have.

"Fujiko."

He saw her perk up in the teapot's reflection. "Yes?"

Goemon kept his tone flat. "What do you want?"

There came that smile he trusted too easily. "The Nutella would be great!"

"No," he clarified. "With me."

"What do you mean?"

Did she really have to play stupid with him? He was feeling dumb enough as it was. "What did you just put in my tea?"

Large eyes went over his shoulder, settling into the teapot's surface. Fujiko went pale. Her reflection was as paralyzing as Medusa's glare. Everything kind and decent in her skin shed. Porcelain shattered against metal. Its shrapnel cut like raining glass. There was anger, fear, darkness in the torn gaps of Goemon's reality. He didn't even feel himself move, reaching for Zantetsuken, defending himself. His pulse coursed in his eyes, through his limbs, tripling in his chest.

His guest was a bleary smear, like so much ink spilled across celluloid. He blinked, and she was gone. Goemon shoved his spine against stone, Zantetsuken drawn sharp and up. What was this? A nightmare? Why would Fujiko ever attack him?

Unless…

Goemon snarled. No. It couldn't be. Rose was dead. He had watched her kill herself, pierce her chest with her own thorn. He rubbed his neck, remembering that very weapon's sting. It hurt, but not for long. That device she used was not meant to kill by blow alone. It was like a syringe, loaded with her solution of choice. For Goemon, that was a tranquilizer. But, for attacking Lupin? For killing herself? She would have had some sort of poison, wouldn't she?

Had they assumed too much?

Were they all romantic fools?

Slumping shoulders rose. This couldn't stand. No matter what was happening, no matter how reality was crumpling in on itself, Goemon knew of one fact. He was here because Lupin wanted him. For whatever scheme, whatever desire—that was all in the imagination of that monkey man's mind. But, he risked his hide to recruit Goemon. He kept sweeping him up, even when he lost his temper or failed him. To not return that bravery and kindness was to lose his path. Perhaps, everything his paper-thin heart held dear.

To have desire was damnable. To lose it was hell, too.

Courage pulled back the flooding pressure in Goemon's ears. He held his breath, listening for the smallest of footsteps. A wise assassin would have left the house, regrouped, tried again later. Perhaps, he should do that, too. The odds weren't in his favor. His swordsmanship was beyond compare, sure. There were a lot of places to hide in this estate. Plenty of weapons. He could only look so many directions, move so fast, think so far ahead. All his attacker needed was one more shot.

Hinges squeaked.

Goemon opened his eyes.

Upstairs. That was where she fled. He watched the ceiling above him, moving just below her feet. Being up there was sure to trap her within the estate. There was only one safe exit from that level, and that was down the foyer's staircase. But, there were bedrooms up there. Bedrooms full of all sorts of weapons. Goemon grimaced. The last thing he needed was for her to find a flashbang or a smoke bomb.

Bare feet marched firm. Goemon stepped out of the kitchen, certain of his path. He would go to the staircase. He would find his attacker. He would confirm his fears. Then, he would quell them. It had to be that simple. Anything more, and he would get tangled in his own tactics.

A man of honor always made his presence in a fight known. So, he spoke. "Rose."

His attacker had no obligation to answer him.

"I am going to step into the foyer," Goemon announced. "If you attack me, I will disarm you."

There was no argument from her—no response.

Fine. Fair. He expected nothing more. "I do not enjoy fighting women. You know that." He breathed out, steadying himself. "I will give you every advantage you deserve, but do not press your luck."

Silence skimmed over cold stone.

So be it.

His left foot crossed the threshold of the foyer. The right followed it. He stepped once more, and his vision ripped red. Petals bloomed from Zantetsuken's end. Goemon shook his sword clean, a severed blossom falling from its edge. So too fell metal, dripping liquid. Goemon took another deep breath. He had his fears confirmed. His attacker had all but named herself with her weapon.

The darkness smeared again. Goemon watched what fled like a ghost through an ancient mansion. Warm velvet drew him up, pulled him a step at a time to his dread. He spun Zantetsuken in his palm, uncertain which way to hold it. Its blunt end was forgiving. Its sharp edge, his only assured safety. Which way should it pull? Lupin would spare her. Jigen, end her. If only Fujiko was here for a tiebreaker.

He reached the top of the stairs, still uncertain about what to do. "I'm here, Rose."

She knew.

Leather blasted from shadows. It hit Goemon like a spotlight. Fear drove deeper than the end of Rose's whip. His skin was wrapped up, protected. His mind was not. Hours of brutality burned him at the wrist. Everything he stitched up split open, bleeding hot and black. Goemon was alone. Alone with the woman that had brutalized him.

And there was no one to hold her back.

One lash hit like lightning. Another, fire. There was a smack across his throat, slicing his Adam's apple. He grabbed his neck, gasping, doing everything he could to keep air in his chest and his legs beneath his lungs. Dissonance chorded with his choking. It sang in flying metal, then a cacophonous clang on the foyer's floor. Goemon stared at his empty hand. Zantetsuken was gone. It was banished below, as far from his fingertips as the coals of hell.

A demon screamed. It leapt upon him, toppled him, slammed him square before the stairs. Fingers and nails were like barbs in Goemon's skin, digits digging into his bleeding neck. His own locked up. Every joint and knuckle betrayed him. He could count every failure on them, their mantra burning in his brain. You weren't rea-dy. You weren’t rea-dy. You weren't rea-dy.

It was all he could do to keep the path in his trachea open. "S-Stop!"

That was severed with a single shriek. "Shut up!"

Oh, if he could gasp. If he could breathe. If he could get oxygen to any of these deadweight muscles and move. His heels burned in velvet trimming, forcing him backwards. Thighs clenched, sharp knees drawing his own together. There was no decency here. Nothing but shame, being trapped beneath a succubus.

"You thief," she seethed. "Do you know what you took from me?"

Goemon had just enough room above her thumbs to nod.

"He was everything to me. Everything!" Her anger struck meteor-hot in his right eye. "And you have the gall to regret killing him? After everything you've done, you want to cry to me? To pretend to be merciful to me? To be kind to me? To me? To me?!"

She wasn't thinking straight. Neither was he. "R-Rose—"

"Stop it! Stop it!" She punctuated her sentences by smashing his skull into velvet and stone. "Just die! Die!"

For a moment, Goemon thought he might.

It was a cold thought, detached from the burning, splintering pain spreading through him. He could stop fighting. He could let a woman kill him. There was no shame in that. His lungs were about ready to give way, their emptiness churning like ghastly lava. Dying like this made sense. He could see it typed out in blotchy ink, spilling like credits in the abyss. It was fate. Nobility. Goemon Ishikawa XIII met his end with peace and grace, fulfilling the core of the bushido code, never raising a hand to even the most violent of women. How tragic. Beautiful. Cut.

"That's it," Rose directed him. "Give up."

He could.

But Lupin would be next.

Pain was energy. It traveled down his brain stem, through his nervous system, to his organs and back. That signal was a waste. He ignored its broadcast, damming the last of his strength in other pools. It fell into locked joints, his knees, his hips. One snap from his mind was all it took.

Hakama fluttered. His thighs slipped out, locking around hers, as if he was the very lover he had killed. Mass was on his side. Gravity. Inertia. With one twist, Goemon tossed Rose from his body. They rolled past the lips of the second floor's edge, tumbling down a red velvet river. Goemon gasped, grabbed on, sliding until his nails dug into the steps.

He was used to fighting cascades.

Rose was not.

Thudding rumbled down the foyer. Skin and bone hit every step like hammering piano keys across muted wires. A final, heavy thump washed out. Goemon held fast, curled up, as if a flood were going to rise from the floors. Nothing came. Not screaming. Not crying. Not breathing.

Reality ran ragged and red. It hovered in Goemon's eyes, juttering crooked. Shame pooled scarlet across the velvet rug. Rose stared at him over her left shoulder. Mad. Accusatory. Unblinking.

Oh.

He had killed her.

Prickling dizziness gave way to nausea. Tea and saliva dripped from Goemon's mouth. His stomach heaved, his soul trying to force itself out of his cursed body. This was a nightmare. This was against his code. This was a stain on his very spirit. How could he pretend to have morals any longer? How could he hope to find peace with this? How could he—

A creak in silence cut his anxiety quiet.

Soft light split wood. It came across the foyer, Rose's body, Goemon's face. He shot up, locking his knees, fighting not to shiver. Nothing outside the estate's entryway was more fearsome than what lay within its walls. The world out there just watched him, quiet, their shadows stretching over him.

And then, finally, a meek remark. "He did it."

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Told you he could."

Goemon drew towards the door. Rigid fear held him captive. He froze at the bottom of the staircase, helpless, fenced in by his own violence. Such a cage couldn't hold his friends back. Jigen stopped at what was left of Rose, studying her body with a cold glare. Lupin leapt further, throwing his arms around Goemon's sore neck. One flinch drew another. Still, Lupin would not let him go.

"Sorry," Lupin whispered, squeezing him tight around his chest. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."

It was much easier to breathe in Lupin's grasp than Rose's. "Lupin?"

"Yes. Hello! _Tadaima._ " Brown eyes buried themselves into the crook of his shoulder. "I should've known you would be okay, but man—man!"

Goemon's head sunk. " _W-Wakarimasen."_

Jigen explained everything in a single sentence. "I buried Wolf three days ago."

Numb thoughts cushioned the impact of Jigen's statement. At first, it seemed good. That was three days less rotten, three days cleaner into the ground. Good. Worse was what sank in afterwards. Jigen just said Wolf. Just Wolf. Three days ago.

They knew. They both knew Rose was not dead for three days.

And they had said nothing to him.

"You—" Goemon stammered. "You—"

Lupin shrunk back from him. "I mean, I was apologizing a lot for a reason."

Too much was starting to make sense. All of that testing with those coins. Jigen's apprehension. They had to have known Rose would resurface, that she would come after them. Goemon's pride was as purpled as his skin. It was a gamble, leaving him alone in this state. His strength was not where it had been. Had he been more patient—had they moved out, waited a week or two more—

Oh, but what tempting bait he had been for their trap.

Or maybe he was the trap.

Goemon sat down. "This was all just a ruse."

"Yeah." Lupin plopped beside him. "We got a couple of kilometers out. Spun some loops. Hung out. Rolled back just in time to see you letting a little birdie in through the windows."

Anger and shame multiplied in Goemon's blood, burning him as red as the velvet carpet. "You—"

"Don't get mad at me, buster!" Lupin huffed back. "You broke the rules!"

He'd certainly done plenty of that today. "But, you must have known that I would—"

Lupin grinned, smug and blushing. "I did."

Damn it all. He was a fool. As predictable as the rising sun. Long sleeves hid greater shame. What good was it to be reliable? It just gave people strings to pull. Maybe he was wrong, thinking he was ready to go back to work. Maybe he should go home, train, study, get a clue. If his strength was all he had to offer, then he was no better than a paperweight.

Doubt parted with his hair. Tobacco-stained teeth gleamed like pearls. "Hey."

Was it Jigen's turn to pick on him, too? "Yes?"

Two pats settled on his shoulder. "Good job."

Goemon closed one eye. If Jigen was mocking him, he was doing a damn fine job hiding his contempt. "I do not feel good about this job."

Jigen just kept smiling. "Well, someone's got to have principles around here."

With that, Jigen laid glittering hope at Goemon's side. It was enough to draw a slim grin out of him. Zantetsuken. It was whole, unchipped, free of blemishes. The blade settled easily into his sheath, as smooth entering it as it left. To have it back was to be whole. To know that his friends wanted him to have it…

"Thank you," Goemon whispered.

"You're welcome." It was hard not to feel warm with Jigen's hand on his side. It reached up, ruffling his hair the wrong way. "Maybe don't drop it next time."

Next time. Goemon smiled. There was going to be a next time.

The same thought was on Lupin's mind. "You know what? I really think you're almost ready to go back to work."

"Almost?" Well, that was fair. Goemon had a lot left to heal. Maybe re-heal, after this disaster.

"Yeah." There was nothing quite as confident and goofy as a Lupin grin. "There was one thing I needed to know, and you proved it to me."

Goemon stared at his proof. No. He was not proud of that. "My ability to fight is still compromised."

Lupin rolled his eyes. "Not that, you idiot."

The samurai raised his head. "Then, what?"

Lupin's answer was all so clear. "I needed to know that it would be safe to have Fujiko around you."

Oh.

_Oh._

He didn't need an explanation from Lupin. Neither did he need an apology. Fujiko was warm, charming, talented. The very sparkle in Lupin's eyes. Such luster charmed Goemon, too. It was the reason he dropped his guard so low, the reason he let Rose have any hope for revenge. Maybe he was too tame, just a dog dreaming of being a wolf. To be otherwise was to be a monster—something to be put down.

The spokes of Lupin's mind pinched Goemon's fingers. "You…were worried that I would…"

"Yeah. A bit." Even then, he wrapped an arm around the samurai's shoulders. "But, if you're dumb enough to sweet talk the same person that cut you up like sashimi, then I've got nothing to worry about."

Well, then. What a horrifically embarrassing failure to be proud of.

More hands stroked his thigh. Jigen stood up, his coarse fingers leaving abrasions in their passing. They settled on numb skin, their friendliness lost on the wicked and the dead. "Time to get this out of here before it starts stinking up the place."

Lupin's nose crinkled. "Jigen, please!"

"Hey," his bodyguard huffed. "She made this mess."

Goemon shook his head. No. He was responsible for her fate. Both at the end of this stairwell and into the earth. He slipped from Lupin's fingers, cautious as he stood. "Are you going to take her to Wolf?"

Jigen stared at him like he'd asked for her to be interred with a pharaoh.

Even under such a withering glare, Goemon held fast. "I…think they should be together."

The gunslinger's sigh burned. "Fine." He tilted his head, his gaze arrow sharp. "You're scrubbing her blood out of the Fiat, though."

Oh. That wouldn't do. "Give me a moment. I am sure I have something to cover her in."

"Maybe grab some incense too, huh?" Lupin beamed, all too pleased with Goemon's plan. "It's only proper, after all."

Goemon nodded. "Of course."

Bruises throbbed down his legs as he moved. It felt as if the staircase were picking at him, reminding him of just how easily it could have clamped down on his flesh. There was a flicker of movement from Lupin, then stillness. He knew better than to coddle Goemon. The ronin bowed his head. He knew he was no easy patient, that it took great care to get him to where he was. That his partners would entertain his idiosyncrasies was a blessing. He would have to get better, share that same patience with them.

There wasn't much in the space Jigen and Lupin had given him for a room. He'd only recently moved from the settee downstairs. They'd recovered what had mattered most to him. His cleaning supplies, clothing, little accoutrements. His box of incense was roughed up, worn down, its sticks rattling and broken. The only cloth he had to spare was that from an old kimono. He stared at it, let it lay in his lap. It should be white. Time turned it tan. He bowed his head, then picked up his supplies. This was all he could offer. Donations made in lean times meant more than those from surplus stores.

Shadows waited for him by the front door. They folded over him as he reached the foyer's base. Neither spoke as he addressed Rose's body. He was glad they didn't. Nothing could have come from his mouth. Skilled hands held over slim shoulders, drawing the kimono around them. Goemon blinked. His palms sagged. So, this was it. The source of his horror, why he burned, why his friends looked down on him with such pity.

Rose was so delicate.

Her life didn't have to—

Lupin took his shoulder first. He squeezed, smiled, reassured him of what he was doing. His fingers reached down, wrapping around where Goemon's hands stilled. Ever the gentleman, Lupin lifted Rose up. For one moment, his chattering chaos was stilled. He was every portrait of gallantry taking her corpse to the Fiat. Goemon sat still, a strange sort of quiet calming his soul. He followed Lupin for his taxing antics, the challenges he brought. He stayed for those unusual slivers of perfect serenity.

The gunslinger and ronin followed their boss, mute as he situated Rose's body in the backseat. Dread flickered in Goemon's chest. Was he going to be left here again? No one was left to hurt him, but—

Jigen drummed the top of the car. "You coming?"

Goemon's eyes widened. The roof. He could ride on the roof again. He clambered up the Fiat's back, drawing a squawk from Lupin as the car shook. His legs folded, Zantetsuken poking down, the box of incense settled perfectly on his lap. Oh, yes! He could do this! This truly was his spot in the Fiat!

"Just try not to fall off," Jigen laughed. "I don't want to be burying anybody else."

Goemon smiled. "I will be careful."

With two clicks and a rumble, all three men were off. Goemon leaned into dragging air, adjusting himself to the forces around the Fiat. They were gentler than usual, kind on his face. Probably because Jigen wasn't driving as fast as usual. That was alright. He had given his partners enough reason to be cautious. He would heal that wound, too.

One day, they would all be running at full speed again.

For them, he would endure.

**Author's Note:**

> So, you know how inside you there are two wolves duking it out? Like, spiritually? I think mine are respectively Samus Aran and Princess Peach. 
> 
> Now, both ladies have a few things in common. They're vaguely humanoid, female, painted with similar colors (unless you want to rock 1980s redhead Princess Toadstool and a green/brunette Samus, which right on.) Nintendo characters, obviously. Also, they love baby animals and want to protect them. Very good! But, there's at least one major character difference between them, and that may have to do with their occupation. Princess Peach, obviously, has a measure of leadership over a kingdom and has to act in accordance to the needs of her people. Samus is a goddamn space bounty hunter who splatters aliens across various compounds and planets, often before that gets blown up as well. Peach has to act with a measure of community spirit and camaraderie in order to protect her people and herself. Samus has to blast holes in creatures that would otherwise eat her for lunch or steal her reward money from a hunt. Peach wants to be nice. Samus wants revenge.
> 
> How does it relate to this story?
> 
> Well, I was having an argument with my subconscious about writing the damn thing. Like, I think there's enough reasonable wiggling in fan speculation without damaging canon. If you've watched the 112th episode of the second run of "Lupin the Third" (and what the hell are you doing here, if you haven't?), you would have seen Rose killing herself with the same weapon she used to subdue Goemon. Which, hey. If you're a devious person trying to get a way out of a problem so you can avenge your dead lover, faking your death use a tranquilizer might be a feasible option. You know. Assuming Jigen didn't take care of corpse disposal right then and there. 
> 
> Where I was struggling was with the sort of violence I decided to lean into. Like, I'm pretty sure Goemon kills at least four women, despite having a debilitating case of the simps. But, this has all been fairly recent in canon (like, mostly within the last 20 years.) This particular episode was produced 40+ years ago. And it wasn't like the guys weren't responsible for killing a few women back then, either. It was just rare. Maybe uncomfortable for the production staff, too. (Although, fuck. Considering what they adapted this episode from, this could have gotten so much wilder/brutal.) So, what I'm getting at is that I don't know if this was appropriate to write. That's why this fanfic kept ending up in and out of my recycling bin. 
> 
> Samus ended up winning the argument I was having on this with a simple, "But fuck that bitch, though." Because, and I can't stress this enough, that woman is vile. Like, this is a children's show in certain countries, right? Some poor eight-year-old out there watched her whip a dude to shreds and blast his molar out with a power drill. Like, Wolf would have absolutely killed Lupin and Goemon had they not been screwing around with him, but his sense of torture was like. What? RIP headphone users? And he's the guy that ends up with a sword in his chest. God.
> 
> Anyway, there's my essay on that.


End file.
